Go to Reading on Line
Go to Home Page
Go to Chapter 8

On 7th April 1983 I woke up at about 5:45am with severe pains in my back. My child was overdue. I knew he was, but the military doctors said that he was not due to be born for another two weeks.

Because I had back pains I did not think I was in labour. I was expecting to have pain in my stomach, which is the most common type of labour. I therefore put my uniform on and prepared to go to work because in the United States Air Force I was not allowed to have any time off work just because I was having a child.

As we were preparing to go into work, however, it was decided that because my labour pains were at regular intervals I should go to the hospital. Our car had broken down and Enrique had never bothered to get it fixed, so his friend John gave me a lift to the hospital.

When I was in the maternity ward I was told to take all of my clothes off and put a gown on. The nurse wanted to give me an examination, so she put a huge speculum inside of my vagina so she could examine me.

The object the nurse inserted in me was so large that I flinched and yelled out from the pain. The nurse chastised me and told me not to be such a baby. It was later revealed that the speculum that was inserted into me was an extra large, and I only needed a small. The object was so large that it actually cut me and I was bleeding. No one ever apologised to me for having inserted incorrect sized medical instruments into my body and harming me.

There seemed to be some confusion as to how far I had dilated. After two nurses and one doctor inserted their massive hands in my birth passage, it was finally agreed that I had dilated 4cm.

After it was assessed how much my cervix had dilated, I was told to put my clothes on and go into an office to speak to a doctor. Dilated 4cm, in labour, I sat in front of my doctor, wearing my maternity uniform, while he told me that I must go back to work. I just looked at the man in complete astonishment.

“But I am in labour,” I managed to stammer to the doctor.

“I know you are in labour, but you have not dilated enough and I cannot release you from work,” said a rather stern doctor who was no doubt being ordered not to give women time off work just because they just happened to be giving birth. The simple fact that I was ordered to go back to work while I was in the middle of giving birth is a clear indication to me that the American armed forces is a misogynistic, woman hating organisation. Who in their right mind would order a woman in labour to go back to work?

I rang my work in tears and explained to them that although I was in labour, the doctor was still sending me back to work. I did not want to sit at work, in labour, and I am sure that my colleagues did not want me to go to work whilst I was in the middle of giving birth.

The person who picked up the phone was understandably horrified. Nobody in that section wanted me there that day regardless of the fact that the United States Air Force had a policy that women must report for duty until the exact moment that their baby actually comes out of their body. I felt guilty for letting the military down and relieved that I did not have to go to work and subject my colleagues to my suffering. I therefore went home even though I had been ordered to go back to work.

The minute I got home I took my uniform off and put on some comfortable clothes. By this time the contractions were five minutes apart, yet I still felt guilty for not being at work. After being at home for about an hour and not having any respite from the pain, I phoned the hospital and told them that I really was in a lot of pain and the contractions were five minutes apart.

The nurse reluctantly told me that if I was in that much pain then I could go back in, but I got the distinct impression that she did not believe me.

Back in the maternity ward, unclothed and having yet another vaginal examination, it was determined that the previous examination was incorrect. I had dilated 6cm and not 4cm!

The doctor decided that in an attempt to speed up the labour process, they would make me walk up and down the corridor. Therefore, hanging on to an IV, I walked up and down the halls for almost an hour. It was not really a great process, however, because I was having back pains and it was very difficult for me to stand during a contraction. The nurses then decided that I should go back to the bed and lay down. The doctor came in to examine me and told me that I would have my baby in a couple of hours. That was at about 4:00pm.

The doctor then decided to break my water. When the water came out it was green, which was not a good sign. The green water, or luconiam, meant that my baby had had a bowel movement while still in the womb. The excrement was toxic and if the baby inhaled it or swallowed it, he could be very ill.

Due to the severity of my baby’s condition, it was decided that even though I was in excruciating pain, I would not be given any anaesthetic. The reason for this was because anaesthetic would slow down my baby’s heart beat and other bodily functions, which would pose problems if he did ingest any of his own excrement. The doctors wanted me to be fully alert when he was born because they wanted to take every precaution that I would have a healthy baby.

The doctor decided he wanted to monitor my baby’s heart beat, so put a monitor on my stomach. It was impossible to get an accurate reading, however, because I had a layer of fat around my middle, which is the result of a hormonal problem that I inherited from my grandmother. The doctor therefore decided to place the monitor on the baby’s head, so yet another object was inserted inside of me.

The hours went and the contractions intensified, but there was still no baby. At one time I became nauseous and had to vomit a yellow substance into a tray. I told the nurses several times that I was thirsty, but I was given nothing to drink. Finally, I was allowed to suck on a damp tissue.

It was during this very intense labour that Enrique decided that he wanted to leave to get some dinner. I looked at my husband in horror.

“Don’t leave me!”, I begged my husband. What kind of a callous, unfeeling man would leave to get some dinner when his wife was in the middle of giving birth?

The pain was so unbearable that I became delirious. I started begging the nurse to kill me because I simply could not handle the pain any longer. Not only did I feel as if my back was going to break, but this time my pelvic bone had to spread in order to accommodate a large baby.

The nurse, who was the same one who injured me by inserting an extra large speculum into me, sternly told me to pull myself together. She was certainly not tolerating any hysterics on her shift. I suppose that in a way she was right because I needed all of my energy for giving birth, not for screaming bloody murder.

Hours passed and there was still no baby. The doctors felt sorry for me and decided that I could have a mild painkiller, which was the equivalent of Tylenol III. This drug only lasted about an hour, however, and after that I was on my own.

While all of this was going on I discovered that I was not able to urinate. The doctor therefore inserted a catheter into my urinary tract to enable me to pass fluid.

In late evening there was no baby, even though I had been assured that I would have my baby by early evening. After 10:00pm I was told that I had dilated 10cm, and even though I wanted to push, I could not. I don’t know all the details, but the doctor said that the time was not yet right to push.

After not being allowed to push for what seemed like an eternity, I was told by a male nurse that I could push. I was therefore taken to the delivery room and told to push during each contraction.

The problem was that I had been through a very traumatic experience. I had been in labour since before 6:00 that morning, had gone to work, and then had to go to the hospital. While at the hospital the nurse used incorrect instruments to examine me and injured me in the process, and when I cried out in pain she called me a baby. The nurses had not accurately detected how much my cervix had dilated, and as unbelievable as it sounds, I was told to go back to work by another doctor. My work section, not the doctor, told me to stay home because my colleagues certainly did not want to be around a pregnant woman in the throes of labour. I was then grudgingly allowed to go back to the hospital, even though it was not believed that I was in fact in labour. I was not given anything to eat or drink all day long, had to endure a horrendous labour all on my own, bar one 45 minute mild painkiller. I had suffered many hands inside of my body all day long. In addition to that, my blood pressure had shot up to extremely high levels.

I pushed and pushed and pushed for at least 45 minutes, and there was still no baby. After such an arduous experience, I collapsed. I simply could not push or move or do anything that I was told to do any longer. They could not make me push because I simply had no more energy left. I suppose the doctor felt that I had been pushed to the limit, so he got his old trusty forceps out.

Although I had been given an episiotomy, the forceps and the baby’s large head totally ripped through my birth canal and back passage. After it was all over, there was simply nothing left of me.

The baby came out of me face up. He may very well even have had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, but I cannot honestly remember whether or not that was the case. Because almost every bone in my baby’s body was double jointed, he back formed an extremely sharp backward arch, which meant that he had formed an odd position while he was in the womb.

Because my baby was born face up, many people of a religious or spiritual ilk believe that he will have spiritual qualities as an adult because he was born facing God.

The nurses thought he was lovely. He had a full head of dark brown hair and they commented on his chubby little thighs. The nurses said that because the skin on his fingers was cracked, he was about a week late. My estimates, therefore, of his ideal birth date were correct, while the doctor’s estimates were off by three weeks. They had projected that the birth should occur on 21st April, while I believed that it should have occurred on 1st April.

The baby had an apgar score of 9 and was very healthy indeed. It was me who was the total wreck.

After I gave birth, the doctor decided that it was time to sew me up, and there was a lot of stitching to do. I had literally no insides left, so they had to completely reconstruct a new vagina and back passage, which had both been ripped out during the delivery.

It was only when the doctor was reconstructing my private parts that I was allowed a local anaesthetic, but I still nevertheless felt every single stitch. The doctor wanted to give me more stitches, but I begged him not to. I absolutely hated what he was doing to me because I could feel it all. I could not bear it that he had to sew me back up.

It was during the reconstruction that my doctor proudly told me that he had used every single instrument that there was to enable a woman to give birth naturally on me. A nurse came and told me later that she knew that I had been through a really rough time. She informed me that I had suffered 4th degree lacerations.

I literally went through hell and back to give birth to a child. In this day and age of quick fixes and painkillers, I was made to do it all on my own. I never, ever wanted to have another baby as long as I lived.

They say there are properties in mother’s milk that will make the mother forget about the birthing process, but I did not forget. I don’t think there are enough chemicals or drugs on the face of this Earth that could make me forget such a difficult pregnancy and traumatic labour.

After I gave birth, Enrique came to me and said he wanted to name my baby Matthew Manuel, after my father and his father. I recoiled in horror because Enrique had obviously been listening to the men at work, who told him that he must name his child after a family member. I wanted my child to have his own identity, his own personality.

“I want my baby to be called Aaron Alexis,” I informed my husband. He was to be named Aaron simply because I liked it and Alexis because it was his father’s middle name.

As I would later come to realise, the naming of my baby was one of the few decisions that I would ever be allowed to make regarding his destiny.

Enrique also felt sorry for me, which should serve as a clear indicator of what a really difficult time I had. He told me that I should sleep in the following morning and take it easy, which was about the only bit of sympathy he would ever be able to show for me. I did not get to sleep in, however, because a nurse made me get up at 5:00 the following morning, as she directed me to get up, shower, and walk around a bit.

I also insisted that my baby was not circumcised. I saw it as an unnecessary procedure that would only cause him pain. One of the nurses commended me on my independent thinking because so many mothers simply go along with convention and do not ever question whether a certain procedure is right for them.

I was the only person in the maternity ward that week and was very lonely. I do not recall if Enrique came to see me every day or night, but he certainly did not stay long whenever he did visit. He also did not bring me flowers, which I understand is customary whenever one has a baby.

I was made to stay in the hospital for five days. They would not allow me to go until I had a bowel movement because my insides were so badly damaged. I was eventually allowed out of the hospital, but only on the strict condition that I go home and get as much rest as possible. I did not know it at the time, but the doctors and nurses must have been very concerned about me.

As I was leaving the hospital, I carried my own suitcase. The nurse chastised me and Enrique, saying that after what I had been through I should not be lifting anything heavy. The nurses could see how ashen my face was, which revealed the total exhaustion that I felt from a very difficult pregnancy and excruciating labour. The only reason I was allowed to leave at all was because I kept pestering the doctor, asking him when I would be allowed to go home.

When I got home I was in so much pain that I could not leave the house. Enrique had to go the Base Exchange and buy me some new clothes because I did not have any in my wardrobe that fit.

My hips were really too small to give birth naturally, but because I was young and Aaron was double jointed, he managed to squeeze his way though my small hips and birth canal, which had no other choice but to bend and tear to accommodate him. My rib cage had been much smaller as well, but his body growing inside of me forced them to bend to his expanding body as well. Although my bone structure was really not large enough to accommodate my baby, because I was so young, my bones moved out of his way so that he could have life. I have to say that after giving birth, my body would never, ever be the same again.

Because I was too ill to leave the house, Enrique took it upon himself to go to the CBPO, which was a unit that took care of personnel administration, and registered Aaron as his dependant. That one act alone meant that Enrique would receive all the extra money and entitlements for having a dependant. That was just one of many things Enrique would do to undermine my authority as Aaron’s mother.

One day Enrique came home with an unwrapped gift from Keith Holshouser. I simply couldn’t believe the nerve of that man, after all he had done to harm me and my baby, and he way buying him presents!?! Keith Holshouser was totally unbelievable. I asked Enrique why he accepted the present and he could not answer me. I told Enrique that I didn’t want any presents from that man in my house, so he ended up throwing it in the garbage can outside. Enrique would never stand up to Keith Holshouser, or any man for that matter, but he sure didn’t mind harming me.

Even though I had been through a horrendous ordeal, I was expected to walk Aaron down to the hospital all on my own, with no assistance whatsoever from my husband. Sometimes I don’t know how I managed it because the sheer act of walking alone was a painful ordeal. Somehow I coped. I managed to walk to the base and back while my husband sat in his office, pretending to be the big man. If he was truly a big man, he would have helped me a little, but he would never lower himself to do anything for a woman – even if that woman happened to be the mother of his child.

Even though Enrique told anybody and everybody who would listen that he did not want a baby and he was very angry with me for falling pregnant, as soon as Aaron was born he made a complete personality change. He took Aaron over body and soul, which is not what I wanted. I was Aaron’s mother, yet I had no say in his upbringing.

I could not even decide what clothes Aaron could wear. He had a lovely outfit that had a duck on it, but Enrique said that he could not wear it because ducks had homosexual overtones. Now, how on Earth can a small baby be perceived as a homosexual just because he is wearing an outfit that has a duck on it? That assumption is almost as bad as Enrique believing that I would be perceived as a prostitute just because I wore a red dress when I was heavily pregnant. I never really thought about it at the time, but Enrique had some really strange ideas.

In retrospect, I do not think that Enrique ever really loved Aaron because he is not capable of love. He just saw Aaron as someone else he could control, a small person who he could manipulate and force to do whatever he wanted him to do. How could Enrique possibly love Aaron? A man who loves his child does not deprive him of a mother.

On 3rd November 2002, the Daily Mail published an article, “Childbirth: An Unhappy Event”. The article highlighted that for some women childbirth can be a very traumatic experience.

Although science and technology have improved since the days when women regularly died in childbirth, but there are still all sorts of factors that can make for a traumatic experience: unsympathetic midwifery staff, poor pain control, or the unnerving loss of control when events take an unexpected turn for the worse.

They say that the hormone prolactin, the “bonding hormone”, which stimulates the production of breast milk, is linked with forgetfulness about labour – a sort of blessed hormonally induced amnesia, which gives first-borns their siblings. A few women never forget. Some will have trouble bonding with their baby or lose their nerve so completely that they’ll never risk another pregnancy; some will never again have a fulfilling sex life with their partner; others will suffer lasting unhappiness and marital breakdown. A few will go on to suffer full blown post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, experiencing the same constellation of symptoms as if they had been attacked or injured in a catastrophic car crash; abrupt mood changes, panic attacks, flashbacks, cold sweats, nightmares, crying fits, or agoraphobia. However, even though research has shown that a traumatic birth experience can cause the same level of PTSD as has been found in Vietnam War veterans, few doctors make this connection. If there are signs of psychological ill health, most doctors will link these to hormonal changes after birth, and not to anything that may have happened during it.

Gabrielle Downey, consultant obstetrician at Birmingham City Hospital (where 700 to 800 women a year give birth under her care) finds the psychological aftershocks are greatest in women for whom it was the first birth and women who had fixed expectations of the type of child they wanted and didn’t get. Now we have such tight control over our everyday lives, we expect something of the same autonomy in the delivery room, she says. And even more of a shock to contemplating women than it did to previous generations.

When events gather momentum and unfamiliar setting, unfamiliar people, it is easy for even the most independently minded woman to feel lost, bewildered, bullied, fearful – not to mention disappointed and a failure if everything does not go according to plan.

One would think that the pain was the worst part of the whole experience, but psychotherapist Dr Heather Allan says that for 99% of the people who consult her, pain is not the lasting issue; it’s the emotional and psychologi

cal distress. When the unexpected happens, and women are left feeling let down at best and shocked and traumatised at worst, the importance of debriefing sessions is beginning to be recognised. “From the most wonderful to the most terrible, it’s really important to talk about your birth,” says Janet Balashas, founder and director of the Active Birth Centre in North London, which encourages women to come back to the antenatal classes to share their birth experiences.